The Frozen Chosen

Brian was a relatively young man to be in charge of the Anglican Church in his parish and so he worked hard to affect an aura of saintly holiness to the outside world. He stood a handsome six feet tall in his stockinged feet
and his hair was immaculately coifed in a modern athletic style. His stole sat in just the right position around his neck and his robe of office hung delicately about his slim and muscular body. The hem kissed the laces of his black shoes as he strode through the halls of life and his teeth glistened
white in the morning sunlight.

Brian took his vocation seriously. He was in this place for a purpose and that purpose was the garnering of a soul for his God. He walked peacefully into the small private room just off the main ward and he knelt solicitously on his bent right knee. He kissed the back of his bible and he took his
stole between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He blessed Eileen with the sign of the cross that hung invisibly in mid air about a foot from her closed eyes and waited until gravity brought the blessing down on her
skin so that she would be saved to the Anglican faith for eternity.

He studiously administered the last rites to Eileen and decided that he was just in time. This woman would not see suppertime - in his view. He was happier now that he hadn't rushed over last night when he received the first
panic-stricken call from the night nurse. A contented smile played around his mouth as he fished a business card from the pocket of his trousers and placed it on the bedside locker. This one was his and he wanted the world to
know. With a final blessing he stood up, placing his hand on the lightweight chair that sat beside the bed for support. The flimsy metal frame slipped along the floor, throwing Brian towards the bed. With a revulsion that he
could almost taste, Brian just barely avoided making contact with Eileen's hand as it lay lifelessly outside the counterpane on top of the bed. Relieved, he composed himself and ran his hands along his head, smoothing
out his hair. He checked the mirror that hung on the wall inside the door and smiled to himself. He satisfied himself that the aura he projected of a saintly priest was still intact and he felt his skin crawl at the thought of
how close he came to actually touching the aged skin on Eileen's seventy year old hand. He touched his chest, assumed a clerical pose and walked, bible in hand and clutched to his breast, out into the corridor that led to
the nurse's station.

The blue-clad lady watched Brian as he walked piously towards her station. Being of Canadian extraction she recognised that Brian was of the same religion as her. 'The frozen chosen' was the phrase she had grown up with in
Canada and she recognised the disdain that seemed to surround his holiness. She almost saw the imprint above his head for the soon-to-be-fitted halo that Brian wore constantly for the benefit of his Irish flock. She also saw
how he walked within himself, as though everything and everyone on the ward was dirty and decaying. He kept his arms as close to his body as possible, not wishing to be afflicted or associated with these Alzheimer's-ridden
people. His perception of himself at that time was that he walked with pious intent and calmness, there was more competition for souls in Ireland and Brian knew that he needed to affect this piety in every public moment of his
day.

With a confident smile she strode towards him and introduced herself as Cathy. Brian sniffed and took the tips of her fingers delicately between his. She asked him about Eileen and he comforted her with the fact that she
would soon be with God. Cathy recognised Brian's hypocrisy immediately,seeing through his façade of holiness with the benefit of a vision that had been honed by over twenty years experience of nursing and another twenty
five years of a hard life in her native New Brunswick. Cathy had seen it all before and decided to see just how far Brian's religion would take him. She asked him several questions and he responded in a way that she found quite
familiar. It was reminiscent of an earlier and more extreme age, an age when the rules were more rigid and less flexible. She saw that Brian was not interested in her until she confided the fact that she herself was of the
Episcopalian faith too. Brian leapt on this information immediately, offering her a place amongst his flock at Sunday service, an invitation that Cathy politely declined.

Cathy walked to Eileen's bedside and found Brian's card on top of the locker beside the bed. She brushed a wisp of stray hair from her forehead and squeezed her hand in silence. She then went to her office and took out
Eileen's file. Listed on her file were another two contact numbers. She tried the first - a Dublin number - and it rang out. The other number had a Cork prefix but she dialled it anyway. It was answered on the second ring by a lively and cheerful voice. Cathy explained the situation to the man who identified himself as Peter and he promised to try and get to Dublin to see her. Seven hours later Cathy found herself face to face with a sweating, grey-haired priest who appeared as if he had run all the way from Cork. He explained who he was and how he had got there and that he had to catch the return train in an hour's time. Cathy brought him to Eileen's room and left them alone together. Five minutes later Cathy, feeling that Peter would
benefit from a cup of tea, knocked quietly on the door. She pushed it open and Peter smiled at the promise of hot sustenance.

"I don't suppose there's anything stronger than tea in that cup," he said, winking at Cathy.

"No, there isn't," she replied and saw a flicker of movement from the corner of Eileen's mouth and a movement of her left hand, which was held firmly but gently in her visitor's.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the glass-panelled office. It was Peter. Cathy was taken aback at the difference in appearance of the two clerics. Peter wore a black raincoat over a crumpled black suit. The
cleanest thing about him was his collar and that sat below a craggy, weather-beaten and sun burnt face which was framed by silver hair and sprouted bristles of the same hue from its chin, nose and ears.

"Would you like a sandwich, Father, you must be starving?" she offered and the priest didn't decline.

He followed her into the small kitchen just off the main corridor and they conversed lightly about Cathy and her life and homeland. Cathy placed the sandwich on a plate and made some more tea and they both sat at the dining
table in the centre of the kitchen. She asked him about Eileen and how he knew her and Peter smiled before folding one half of the sandwich into his mouth and almost swallowing it whole. He drank from the cup and sat back in
his chair. He took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one quickly, not giving the nurse time to stop him.

With a twinkle of fond memory he took Cathy down to Cork with him. He took her back seventy years to a time when life was so simple it was complicated. He told her about the village of Dunmanway and of life in the hills of west Cork. He told her about attitudes that prevailed then and of how a person's faith helped to dictate the way they lived and were treated by a community. Eileen's family were well to do. Her father was a merchant in Cork city and
her mother was a music teacher. They owned a house on a large estate in the foothills of the mountains and they owned a small herd of cattle and sheep.

They had six children and Eileen was the youngest.

Eileen's father doted on her and he spoiled her rotten. He sent her to the best schools and taught her the ways of high society. Her mother taught her to play the piano and she played for them every evening after tea. The
servants waited on her hand and foot and it was only when her father died that Eileen realised what everyone else in the village had known all along. She was nearly forty years old and unmarried. When her mother died Eileen
was in sole charge of the house and estate, a task she found hard to manage so, with the advice of her solicitor, she sold the whole lot and moved away to London, where she lived close to an older sister and her family. When she
contracted Alzheimer's she was sent back to Ireland and was being cared for by a distant cousin in Dublin until her condition became too much to handle and Peter lifted his hand in the air to show that his story was finished.

There were tears in his eyes as he spoke, the memory of a distant time being revived within him. He stood and thanked Cathy for her kindness and made her promise to call him if anything else happened and then he left to catch his
train in the same frenzied way he had arrived.

Cathy went into Eileen's room when Peter left. She smiled at the thoughts of all the things that Peter had told her about this genteel little lady that lay in her care. As she thought about it she could see the breeding in her
as it shone through from her sleeping face. She lifted her hands to see the soft skin that was pampered by years of tasteful care and hated the disease that concealed all of this. As she stood to leave she saw another card on
the bedside table - it was Peter's.

It lay carelessly beside Brian's and at an angle to his. They were both white with black bold print on the face. Brian had laid his carefully on the top parallel with the edge and slightly off centre and Peter, it appeared, had just thrown his down beside it. Cathy smiled and remembered Peter's
creased trousers and windswept look and knew that he came just because he wanted to. Brian came because he was summoned. That was the difference.

Biography

Jack Portland is Irish and lives in Dublin. He has 2 children and works in the construction industry. He writes for children and adults, mostly fiction. This is his fourth time to be featured in Electric Acorn. He is currently working on his sixth book and will be seeking a publisher in the
new year. Jack spends a lot of time in the U.S.A. and Canada where he reads his work for those who are interested. He is also an occasional visitor to
the DWW.